Monday, December 9, 2013

Unmentionables.

I'm not supposed to talk about it. I am supposed to pretend that the thought of having another child is a distant, and unimaginable thing at this moment. I think I am even supposed to pretend that I have decided our family is complete. And, to some degree it is. I fully plan to find a job, finish residency, move, get a dog, potty train a couple children and get rid of a lot of clothes, toys and other things before I would even consider adding a fifth [boy] to our pack. But, nevertheless I am seriously considering another child, someday.

I know this even more, now that Mitch is 2 months old. He sleeps at least 6 hours every night now. I don't feel even a whisper of sleep deprivation. He is extremely ticklish in his groin, and slightly on his ribs, under his chin and the bottom of his feet. He is developing a wrist roll. I've never had a baby with fat rolls. His eye color is still indeterminable. He is absolutely precious, a cuddler, LOVES to be warm. No amount of blankets is too many blankets for Mitch. When I sit in the evening and hold him, sleeping soundly on my chest, I lean down and kiss his little forehead. Continually. As Matt sits and holds him in the evening, I catch him doing the same. Every so often, Matt will even say, "I love him, Erin." It's incredible. Each and every one of them. Each and every time. They are amazing. They love each other. They love me. They love their father. We have so much fun together. I could tear up every time I take a moment to just love on and admire my little creations.

Sure, Matt found an app that calculates how much each child costs per year and it is $16,000. Not cheap! We make over double what we did the day Matt bought that home, nearly 8 years ago, yet continue to live in the same financial bracket. That being said, imagine a Mastercard commercial here, where I could list all the ridiculous expenses, like nearly $200 a month on diapers alone. In the end, I'd call them priceless. I didn't leave the house yesterday (for probably only the 3rd time since we've lived there) and I still could have photographed every moment. Brock playing outside in the snow with nothing but a coat, PJ's, gloves and rubber boots. Curtis, hanging all the ornaments on the tree on one branch, annoying, yet oh so adorable. Brock drawing a portrait of his mother and father AND writing our names, for the first time ever. Holding my Mitch, making him giggle, enjoying his facial expressions. George, disappearing for a moment and returning with lotion all over his hair, and a little drooling from his mouth. He loves this Aloe lotion. And by loves, I mean the taste of it, or the texture. George walking around with a toy drill to his head. George, laughing while pretending to cry as he gets tackled by his brothers {and mom}. All of them, head over heels, ecstatic to decorate the tree (which had to be postponed, as I quickly learned I need to purchase some 'kid-friendly' ornaments this year).

I spent a day, just enjoying the madness. Love on all 4 of my children. Spending time with Matt. And though I felt a little anxious, and crazed, none of that was because of the children. It was all because of the looming feeling that I have SOOOO much work to do, outside of the home. A license to apply for, 2 lectures to create, a research project, job interviews, Holiday parties, gifts to wrap and purchase, photos to print, cards to send out, pants to buy for Brock, groceries to buy, laundry and the list goes on, and on, and on. Therefore, as I said above. I am not supposed to mention that a fifth child is a distinct possibility. That idea is absurd...until I really look at my life, and see that all I want to do, and talk about, and be around, is my little family. They do not cause me stress, not one bit. It's all those other things that interfere. So, why would I not want to add to the chaos?

Time Wasters

Vineyard in Denmark

Followers

Us.

Something To Fall Back On

Ever since moving back home as an "adult" with my own place, I have been trying to conquer the abnormally large amount of childhood paraphernalia my mother and I have stowed away. Secretly, I had hoped it would all continue to reside in the deepest corners of our damp, old basement, you know, to keep the opportunity to revisit the good ol' days alive. I had hoped it would never be hauled out and moved to a new house, for all involved to witness the absurd number of boxes labeled "E" and filled with nothing but plastic horses and tea sets. And I really had hoped that these boxes would never take root in my own basement. But, alas, they have found refuge, not only in my home, but weighing heavily on my mind. This leaves only one option, I must sift thru every piece and decide its nostalgic worth.